Reflections of Slum

Free from the spell of PMS, I find myself asking the question – why do I love to hate Slumdog? It is not, as one person speculated, that I have an issue with her based on her race or nationality. That was actually the one thing that sold her to me. I was excited to have someone that grew up in India around to learn about the culture. To my dismay, however, what she delivered was not the package I’d hoped for.

Instead of spiritual enlightenment and insight, I got the same repetitive claim that “it’s all an illusion…blah blah blah.” Yea. Got it. I wish she was an illusion.

Instead of lovely home cooked Indian food I got some processed rice dish with soy balls. That was a tough one to choke down. She lives off of take out from India Sweets and Spices in Atwater. She literally eats the stuff 3 or more times a day.

“Don’t you ever tire of Indian food?” I inquired one day.

“No,” she said indignantly, “I’m Indian!”

That’s about the dumbest logic I’ve ever heard, but whatever. It would be nice if she would chill out with the patchouli incense. When I walk past her room the smell nearly knocks me down, and last night it was wafting into my room. Gag!

She lied about so many things when she interviewed for the room, like the promise to cook authentic Indian food, but also that she would have B List actors around “rehearsing.” Rehearsing for what is my question. The illusion of her life as a director?

I’m beginning to suspect that she is mentally ill. That would mean that I’m picking on a disabled person, but then maybe I’m a little mentally ill 2 weeks out of the month, so it’s okay. In any event, I’m feeling completely unaffected by her presence today. This is reason to rejoice, indeed.